A Strange Story — Volume 07Lytton, Edward Bulwer Lytton, Baron
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A Strange Story — Volume 07
Lytton, Edward Bulwer Lytton, Baron
English fiction -- 19th century
"Lilian, look up, awake! You have been in a long, long dream: it is
passing away. Lilian, my beloved, my blessed Lilian!"
Never till then had I heard from her even so vague an allusion to the
fatal calumny and its dreadful effect, and while her words now pierced my
heart, it beat, amongst its pangs, with a thrilling hope.
But, alas! the idea that had gleamed upon her had vanished already. She
murmured something about Circles of Fire, and a Veiled Woman in black
garments; became restless, agitated, and unconscious of our presence,
and finally sank into a heavy sleep.
That night (my room was next to hers with the intervening door open) I
heard her cry out. I hastened to her side. She was still asleep, but
there was an anxious labouring expression on her young face, and yet not
an expression wholly of pain--for her lips were parted with a smile,--that
glad yet troubled smile with which one who has been revolving some subject
of perplexity or fear greets a sudden thought that seems to solve the
riddle, or prompt the escape from danger; and as I softly took her hand
she returned my gentle pressure, and inclining towards me, said, still in
sleep,--
"Let us go."
"Whither?" I answered, under my breath, so as not to awake her; "is it to
see the child of whom I read, and the land that is blooming out of the
earth's childhood?"
"Out of the dark into the light; where the leaves do not change; where the
night is our day, and the winter our summer. Let us go! let us go!"
"We will go. Dream on undisturbed, my bride. Oh, that the dream could
tell you that my love has not changed in our sorrow, holier and deeper
than on the day in which our vows were exchanged! In you still all my
hopes fold their wings; where you are, there still I myself have my
dreamland!"
The sweet face grew bright as I spoke; all trouble left the smile; softly
she drew her hand from my clasp, and rested it for a moment on my bended
head, as if in blessing.
I rose; stole back to my own room, closing the door, lest the sob I could
not stifle should mar her sleep.
CHAPTER LXVI.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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